i remember how i'd always complain about never meeting your parents, and how you'd always tell me that they were not pleasant people to be acquainted with. you'd always hate talking about them, and i know they hurt you the way no parent should ever hurt their children, so we'd never go to your old home to say hello. but i did meet your father once, just that one time, and to this day i'll never forget the experience.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SON?"

a bellowing voice had echoed through the walls and i'd jumped in fear as i saw a man with the same emerald eyes as yours storm into the room.

he was an old man, with wrinkles on his skin and brittle white hair on his balding head, but he was not frail by any means. his expression was stormy, just like yours always was, and his jaw quivered in anger in the same manner that yours often did.

he was your father, i had realized with a jolt. i'd never met your father before, but there he was, staring at me as if i was the most despicable being to have walked the earth. his eyes could have burned me completely to ashes, and i couldn't help but shiver in fear as he walked towards me.

"what have you done with my son?" he had repeated again, fury seeping through his voice.

i had stared at him blankly. "i don't know what you mean," i had told him, my voice shaking a bit.

he had walked closer to me and his fists were clenched and trembling; i had to resist the urge to step backwards. "my son," he had spat at me. "he's broken. he returned home last night and he is not the same child i had seen a few months ago. he is hopeless and he is lost and the only word that has come out of his mouth is your name. his eyes stream tears of grief and his body shakes like an addict in withdrawal. now i'll ask again. what have you done with my son?"

"nothing," i had whispered back as i began to cry.

your father had punched the wall in response, demanding a better answer. "WHY IS MY SON BROKEN?" he had screamed into my ears, seeming completely oblivious to the fact that i was just as broken as you were.

"because i let him fall in love with me," i had responded quietly, still crying. at this point i had sunk to my knees and was staring at the ground, feeling the sense of loss hit me for the millionth time.

"and you broke his heart," your father had accused me, disgusted.

i shook my head. "he broke my heart, too," i sobbed, not being able to look into your father's eyes.

and for minutes, there had been silence in the room, until your father had extended his hand and pulled me up from the ground. he hugged me as if he was my own father, and i cried and cried until there were no more tears left inside of me. then he had whispered, very softly, very quietly, into my ear:

"stay away from my son."

and then he had walked out the door, just as you had before.